Murder on Olympus

by Robert B Warren

  I narrowed my eyes. “And what is that?”

  “A kiss.”

  “Is that all?”

  “That’s all.”

  I figured she was trying to set me up. I had refused her request for sex, and she thought she could change my mind with a kiss. She was probably right. I knew that saying no would have been the smartest thing to do. But I needed to get into Prometheus’s torture party, and Aphrodite was my ticket. Besides, who’d pass up the chance to kiss Aphrodite?

  “Alright, I’ll do it,” I said.

  Aphrodite smiled. She stood up. I did the same. Outside, the paparazzi moved closer to the window.

  I was strangely aware of my heartbeat. Aware of my breathing. I drew a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then stepped toward Aphrodite. In her eyes, my reflection stared back at me. I looked as nervous as I felt.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  I leaned forward. Aphrodite closed her eyes and parted her lips. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I must be going insane.

  My lips hesitated near hers. Blood pounded in my head. She smelled amazing. Like flowers and candy and desire all rolled into one. Her scent filled my lungs.

  Her lips were soft, her kiss slow and deep. I tensed up as she put her arms over my shoulders. Our tongues brushed, exploring each other’s mouths. My pulse raced. Adrenaline flooded my body. I felt light-headed. Drunk. The only thing I could think about was bending Aphrodite over the table and yanking up her skirt.

  I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer. Her small breasts pressed against my chest. The heat from our bodies mingled. She sucked my bottom lip into her mouth, gently biting it.

  My control began to unravel. Aphrodite’s voice resonated in my brain. “Make love to me.”

  N-no. No!

  Her voice grew louder, issuing from the darkest, most primitive corners of my subconscious. “Don’t fight it.”

  Get out of my head!

  “You want this.”

  Get out! I tore away from her, and she let me. Dizzy and breathless, I planted my hand on the table to keep from stumbling off balance.

  Aphrodite’s breathing was quick, her lips flushed and shining with wetness. Her lust reached out to me, beckoning me back to her arms, an almost tangible presence.

  “Okay, that’s enough!” I shouted, my voice cracking.

  “As you wish,” Aphrodite said. And just like that, the energy receded.

  I lowered myself into my chair, trembling. I felt faint. My heart crashed against the inside of my ribcage.

  Outside, the photographers had worked themselves into a frenzy, taking shots and rapping on the glass.

  Aphrodite sat down, calm and poised. “That was fun. You’re quite the kisser, Mr. Jones.”

  “You’re not too bad either.” It was the truth, and an understatement.

  “I’m surprised though. Most humans would have given in to temptation. But you did not. You must be remarkably strong-willed.”

  If she’d known how close I came to losing control, she might have thought differently. One more second and I would’ve cracked.

  “Maybe,” I allowed. “But something tells me you were holding back. If you’d wanted, you could have forced my will, turned me into one of your thralls.” I made it sound like a question.

  Aphrodite gave me a smile that said everything and nothing.

  “Now that I’ve lived up to my part of the bargain, will you do the same?” I asked.

  “I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  She looked at me and giggled.

  “What so funny?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing, nothing at all.”

  Gods are strange.

  61

  On the way home from work, I picked up an order of pepper steak and fried rice from my favorite Chinese restaurant. Only seconds after I sat down at the table in my apartment, Alexis called me.

  “You filthy dog,” she hissed.

  “Hello to you too.”

  “I knew you were lying. I just knew it.”

  “Lying about what?”

  “You know what.”

  I ate a forkful of rice. “No. I don’t.”

  “Stop playing dumb,” Alexis said. “I saw the pictures.”

  “What pictures?”

  “The ones of you and that . . . that tramp.”

  “Oh, you mean Aphrodite.”

  “That’s exactly who I mean. I’m disappointed in you, Plato. Whoring yourself out just to get back at me. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “You honestly expect me to believe that?” she asked.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Have you had sex with her?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “As your ex-wife, I have a right to know.”

  I chuckled. “Do you realize how absurd that sounds?”

  “I don’t give a damn how it sounds,” Alexis said. “I want to know. Have you had sex with her?”

  I speared a piece of onion with my fork and crunched into it. “I’m not answering that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that information is confidential.”

  “Are you saying it’s none of my business?”

  “More or less.”

  Alexis gave a scornful laugh. “You’re a piece of work, Plato Jones.”

  “And a mighty fine one at that,” I said.

  Incredible. She was getting married and she still thought she had the right to dictate my love life. Or fantasy love life.

  “I can’t talk to you right now,” she said. “I’m too angry. I’ll call back later.”

  “Bye, Alexis.”

  She hung up and I resumed eating. Less than a minute later, my phone beeped. Someone had sent me a text. I assumed it was from Alexis. Probably some expletive-filled rant on how I should be ashamed of myself for lying about my alleged relationship with Aphrodite.

  I checked my cell. The message wasn’t from Alexis. It was from Ares. There was only a single line of text:

  “Time is running out.”

  62

  At 10:00 p.m., I waited on the bridge at Griffin Park. Fifteen minutes later, Aphrodite showed up with a pair of minotaur bodyguards. A black Cleopatra wig with gold clasps hid her auburn hair. Jewels embellished her gold brassiere and thong. A transparent white train was attached to the back of the panties. Somehow she made the outfit look classy.

  Her perfume smelled of pomegranates and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. But I liked it.

  “Nice getup,” I said. “Makes me wish I’d dressed as Mark Antony.”

  Aphrodite smiled.

  “Thanks for showing up,” I said.

  “Anything to help.”

  “You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  She dismissed her bodyguards and followed me to my car. I opened the passenger-side door, and she slid in. She regarded the interior with apt curiosity. I couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

  I pulled out of the parking lot. “Sorry about my piece-of-junk car.”

  “There’s no need to apologize,” Aphrodite said. “I like it.”

  I blinked. “Come again?”

  “It has a certain charm to it. Like a three-legged dog. Or an old beat-up hat you refuse to throw away. It fits you perfectly.”

  “Thanks.” My brow furrowed. “I think.”

  I took the first ramp onto the highway. Prometheus lived in Phane City. Argus had given me Prometheus’s phone number and directions to his main estate, which saved me the trouble of calling the records office. The downside—it was a two-hour drive. A long time to spend with someone who wanted to jump my bones and turn me into a sex
slave. It was worse than it sounded.

  “You like music?” I asked.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Good point.” I turned on the radio. The Olympus Top 40 was playing.

  For the first twenty miles we sat quietly, listening to music. Now and again, I glanced at Aphrodite. She had on lots of black eyeliner. It made her large eyes look even larger.

  “Who are you looking for at the party?” she asked.

  “Dionysus and Prometheus.”

  “Do you think one of them could be the killer?”

  “It’s possible,” I said.

  “I know Dionysus very well.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Aphrodite smiled coyly. “He’s killed before, but for good reason. He just doesn’t seem like a cold-hearted murderer.”

  “Most of the Gods don’t,” I said.

  “True.”

  “What can you tell me about Prometheus?”

  “He’s . . . strange. Of all the Titans, he bears the least amount of hatred toward Olympians.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t begin to tell you the reason,” Aphrodite said. “He’s just strange.”

  “Would you be surprised if he turned out to be the killer?”

  “A little, I suppose. He seems more interested in torturing people than killing them.”

  Great. So at least I’d still be alive after he ripped off my fingernails one by one. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

  We were silent for some time. Then out of the blue, Aphrodite said, “I understand you’re dating the treasurer.”

  “Who? Chrysus?”

  She nodded. “She’s very beautiful.”

  “Chrysus and I aren’t dating.”

  “Oh?”

  I could tell she didn’t believe me. “Really,” I insisted. “We’re just friends.”

  “But you want to be more than that.” There was a hint of jealousy in her voice. And beneath that, a dash of intrigue.

  “You think so?” I asked, challenging her insight.

  “I do.”

  “Is that your Godly perception at work?”

  Aphrodite gave me a small, secretive grin. “Just a woman’s intuition.”

  I took the Phane City exit. It veered right and emptied us onto a strip lined with shopping centers. The buildings all looked shiny and new. But the cobblestone streets were more suited for horse-drawn buggies than cars. My Thunderbird bounced along the thoroughfare.

  Past the shopping centers was a long road that led to the outskirts of town. The area beyond was flat and rural. Farms, ranches, and vineyards were scattered throughout vast stretches of countryside.

  Prometheus’s mansion was at the end of a private road. A four-story palace with lots of windows and marble pillars.

  In the middle of the driveway stood a fifteen-foot statue of Prometheus holding a torch. The fact that the statue was life-size almost made me piss my pants. Its shadow loomed across my vehicle as we parked. Even scarier was the thought of having to arrest him if he turned out to be the killer.

  There were at least fifty cars in the front parking lot, with a line of more cars leading around the side of the mansion. I was betting more were parked around back.

  I could never figure out why Gods drove cars. They could run like the wind, covering dozen of miles in mere minutes. Some could even fly. I guessed—to them—cars were novelty items.

  “What do you want me to do once we get inside?” Aphrodite asked.

  “Just stick with me please. If something goes down, I might need you for backup.”

  “I’m not much of a fighter, but all right.”

  I turned off the car and we stepped out. Nervous butterflies hatched in my stomach. Marilyn Manson’s “Mutilation Is the Most Sincere Form of Flattery” poured from the mansion’s windows.

  “Shall we?” I offered Aphrodite my arm.

  She took it. “Let’s.”

  The front doors were around twenty feet tall, and half as wide. They had to be, to accommodate a Titan.

  In the shadows near the door, a couple gyrated against each other, partially nude. As we approached, their heated moans floated toward us. They were having sex.

  The woman was a nymph, shaped like a human but with transparent skin. A pale, blue liquid suspended her organs inside her torso. The man was rail-thin and covered with piercings. Silver spikes formed his mohawk. As far as I could tell, he was human.

  “I hope that nymph doesn’t spring a leak,” I whispered to Aphrodite.

  “I don’t think she’d mind,” Aphrodite said.

  I rang the doorbell. Prometheus himself answered. His long black hair fell down to his shirtless, bare shoulders. Leather pants were slung low over his hips.

  Tattoos covered his muscular body. There were so many of them; it was hard to tell where one image ended and another began. I was able to make out a skull and crossbones, a smiley face, a dragon, and what looked like a dog riding a submarine sandwich. Tattooed in black across his forehead was an eagle with its wings outstretched.

  Standing so close to Prometheus made my nose burn and my eyes water. He smelled like he’d just jumped into a pool of aftershave, cologne, and bleach. I figured he was trying to cover up the smell of his innards, which were spilling from a huge wound in his stomach. Cords of intestines hung almost to the floor, crusted with dried blood. He could’ve stuffed them back into his belly before answering the door. That would have been the polite thing to do.

  Prometheus’s blue eyes latched onto Aphrodite. His jaw dropped and he swayed in place, clutching his chest as though he were having a heart attack.

  “Whoa, man, have the planets aligned and created an alternate reality? Or is the Goddess of Love actually standing on my doorstep?” His deep voice had its own built-in echo.

  Aphrodite smiled cordially. “Hello, Prometheus.”

  “Hey, yourself.” Prometheus took a step back. His intestines quivered, shedding flakes of dried blood. He looked Aphrodite over and shook his head. “You look great. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you here for the festivities?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

  Prometheus nodded. He looked at me and grinned. A silver ring flashed in his bottom lip.

  “I see you’ve brought a pet,” he said to Aphrodite.

  “This is Plato,” she said.

  “Nice to meet you, Plato.”

  I held up my hand. “Same here.”

  “Is Dionysus around?” Aphrodite asked.

  “Inside.” He stepped aside and allowed us to enter.

  Aphrodite wasn’t lying when she said Prometheus was a strange character. The guy was a contradiction made flesh. He looked like a biker, talked like a stoner, and smelled like a chemical plant.

  Genius was not a word that came to mind. But he was acknowledged as one of the most brilliant minds in existence. And he had managed to pull off one of the biggest heists of all time—stealing fire from Olympus. An idiot couldn’t have accomplished that. No, he was smarter than he let on.

  A lot smarter.

  63

  The foyer was roughly the size of a football field, packed with half-naked bodies writhing to the beat of the music.

  I couldn’t take one step without witnessing a crime against nature. Guests were cutting each other, dismembering each other, burning each other, breaking each other’s bones, and of course, having interspecies sex. Lots and lots of interspecies sex. Overhead, a number of people hung from the ceiling by meat hooks. Their sliced-open bodies dripped blood onto the crowd. Shockingly, all of them were still alive.

  “I have to go check on the other guests,” Prometheus said. “Enjoy yourselves.”

  And he walked away, towering ove
r everyone.

  “Thanks,” I called after him.

  “Now what?” Aphrodite asked.

  “Now we find Dionysus.”

  “What about Prometheus?”

  “I’ll catch up with him later. He’s not going anywhere. This is his party, after all.”

  Aphrodite and I threaded our way through the crowd, looking for Dionysus. We found him lying at the base of the grand staircase, making out with two naked women. One was a blonde, the other a brunette. Either could have been a supermodel.

  He held a golden chalice in his right hand. Red wine sloshed over the brim, spilling down the women’s bodies and splashing onto the floor. I had heard about Dionysus’s chalice. No matter how much wine he drank, it was always full. I could’ve used one of those, only with beer.

  “Hello, Dionysus,” Aphrodite said, frowning at his display.

  Dionysus glanced at her and blinked. “Aphrodite?”

  “Having fun?”

  Dionysus pushed the two women away and stood up. He looked like a cover model from a cheesy romance novel. Tall with chiseled features and curly black hair cut short. He wore a pair of blue jeans and no shirt. His dark eyes sparkled merrily.

  “It’s good to see you.” Dionysus tried to hug Aphrodite. She backed away.

  “Is something the matter?” he asked.

  Aphrodite glanced at the women, who were at Dionysus’s side, rubbing his arms and chest.

  He got the hint. “Give us a moment, ladies.”

  “Aww,” they said in unison.

  “Go.”

  “Oh, alright,” the blonde pouted, and both women left.

  Dionysus watched them vanish into the press of bodies, and then returned his attention to Aphrodite. “Mortals can be so childish sometimes.”

  Aphrodite crossed her arms “The same can be said about certain Gods.”

  He chuckled. “I didn’t know you were a fan of torture parties.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “A friend of mine would like to speak with you.”

  “A friend?”

  Aphrodite inclined her head toward me.